Wildlife Conservation Through a Photographer’s Lens By Madeline Waterman
Browned reeds whip about in the late-March breeze as I crouch among them, concealed from hundreds of watchful eyes congregating on the half-thawed pond surface directly ahead. Honks, quacks, and the strange clicking noises emitted by Sandhill Cranes fill the air, forming a bird symphony. Out of the vast network of canals and other bodies of water in the area, the birds seem to flock almost entirely to this particular pond for reasons unknown to me. This tendency, however, is more than welcomed by ranch guests—mostly fishermen—as it means that only one of their fishing areas is overflowing with the waste that comes along with such concentrated groups of feathered creatures. After spending nearly a week on this Sheridan, Montana ranch with no company other than the wildlife, I’ve quickly discovered that the extremely skittish waterfowl—except for the bold Canada Geese—are not easy to sneak up on. I’ve not yet been able to catch the ever-vigilant hoard off guard; they inevitably take to the air in a great cacophony of panicked alarm calls and erratically flapping wings. Today’s venture has left me army-crawling through the damp grasses surrounding the pond in an effort to approach without being seen. So far, I’ve managed to avoid detection—though I’m convinced they will spot me at any moment. There are five feet left… four… three… just when I think I’ve made it to the perfect location without being seen, a trumpeter swan swims directly in front of me. Seemingly in slow motion, we make eye contact. Shock registers in the two beady orbs staring back at me before quickly turning to panic—panic which mirrors my own as I picture the giant, notoriously aggressive bird charging me instead of flying off. Thankfully, the swan beats its impressive wings while letting loose a shrill honk of alarm and lifting off. Immediately, every last bird takes to the air, foiling any chance I’d had to capture photos of napping waterfowl. However, a wildlife photographer always has a Plan B; I leap to my feet, simultaneously bringing up my camera and focusing on the fleeing subjects. I snap photo after photo, praying to the nature spirits that at least one will turn out. Once all the birds have gone, I review what I’ve captured with held breath… and let it out in a rush of air as I find images like those out of a dream. I may have missed the shot I was going for, but I captured something far better. Nearly a month before, I’d set out from my home in Hyde Park, Vermont—a tiny town nestled in the idyllic
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Green Mountains. I’d spent most of the past year quarantined there with my parents after classes were moved online. As great as my family is, I felt that I was missing out on my own life. I’d been set to go to Mongolia for a few
months in the summer of 2020 to participate in wildlife field research—an opportunity that would provide valuable background experience for any wildlife job I applied for in the future—but it had been canceled even before the pandemic hit the U.S. After repeated career-building cancellations, I was beyond sick of waiting around for opportunities to come to me. I knew something needed to change, but wasn’t sure exactly what that was until a near-constant flood of social media posts from travelers began popping up on my instagram feed. Many of these posts came from a group of wildlife photographers from Jackson, Wyoming—they were constantly posting incredible shots of the wildlife they saw on a daily basis. Immediately infatuated with their lives, I knew exactly what I wanted to do. Before I knew it, my Subaru crosstrek was all packed up with winter essentials and a camping pad in preparation for all the nights I would spend beneath the stars. The next 12,000 miles would mostly be just me, my camera, and the open road. Over the course of three months, I would experience countless incredible adventures: I’d stay at the Sheridan ranch, meet other wildlife photographers, stay on a sailboat for nearly two weeks in Washington, and discover a nearly-deserted hiking trail in the northern Redwoods of California, to name just a few. While traveling from destination to destination, I spent
